Dreams of Times Gone By
by Elycia7
Summary: The Doctor thought he had stopped loving Rose Tyler a long time ago. He was wrong.


A/N: Thanks goes to loup-malin over on tumblr, for taking time out of her busy schedule to help me with betaing. Without her, this fic could never have been posted

* * *

><p>He's alone when it happens.<p>

Clara was off with that boy - Danny was it? – and he was left to wait for her to come back. Not sulking. Not at all sulking. He's a Time Lord after all, and too old and dignified to sulk.

He dreamt of Rose last night.

That's the third time this week.

He doesn't understand. He thought he was finally starting to get over her. To convince his hearts to let go of her. He had been a fool for thinking so. He never would stop loving her, he knew that now.

It had been different in his last body. She had been the last person he had seen before he regenerated into that body. As he had stumbled into the TARDIS, body getting wrecked by the force of the radiation, she had been the only thing on his mind. He had always had the idea to go back and visit her. Pretend to be her Doctor, and take her on one last adventure… In that moment he knew that it would never happen. He would never see her again. But still… She was happy. With a version of him. That had to be good enough. And with that thought in mind, he had regenerated, into a man he thought capable of finally letting go of his pink and yellow human, who was ripped away from him too soon.

After the regeneration, it had been easier. He had been able to put all the pictures, her things, anything that would indicate her presence in his TARDIS or his bedroom, into the room she had vacated oh so long ago. He had been fine. When his TARDIS was taken over, and all the bedrooms and all unnecessary data had been deleted, he had lost everything he had left of her. Every picture, every video, everything she had touched or that indicated her presence. Gone. He had tried to get it back, yes, but hadn't been terribly distraught when he realised it was impossible. He had even thought that it might be for the best. The temptation of falling back in was gone. He had allowed himself to move on. He had been with River… Although, in retrospect that wasn't exactly how he would describe it. Poor River had been raised to kill him, only for him to make her fall in love with him. He had treated her terribly, leaving her in prison and never telling her the full truth. And worst of all, he had been leading her on until the very end. He hadn't loved her, but in his defence, he hadn't not loved her either. When he last saw her, she had known that something was wrong. She told him that she loved him. He said it back, automatically. The words felt wrong in his mouth, and he felt a little sick. He knew that she could tell. And then she had gone to the library to die for him. That would always be one of his biggest shames.

Then he regenerated, after hundreds of years on the planet of Trenzalore. It had been more than a millennium since he last saw Rose. A millennium was a long time. A very long time.

He had forgot, after his regeneration, that none of her things were there. He had searched the entire TARDIS, begging and screaming for her room to appear. It never did. Now, when he thought of her or dreamt of her, her face was a blur, and her voice was indistinguishable. He hated it.

He didn't understand. Why did he love her now? Why now, when he had gone such a long time without missing her?!

Ha! That was a lie. Of course he had missed her.

His hand tightened around the journal in his hand. He had kept it for almost all of his last life and all of this. He had gotten the idea from River's diary, ironically. Every time he thought of Rose, he wrote it down.

In the beginning it was just dates, a few words at most. Then the entries became longer. He had thought of her rarely in his last regeneration, but the entries had become more frequent as his life drew to an end. He wasn't sure when he has started writing to her and not about her.

He finished writing about his dream.

There were no more pages in the book.

Why did she do this to him?

Why couldn't he just forget her?!

In a fit of rage, he threw the book on the ground.

He immediately regretted it, running over to get it, as if it had been Rose herself he had discarded so easily.

His joints protested as he bent down to get it. He looked old now. Felt old. Was old.

He liked it. No one flirted with him now. He was too old, and too angry, and too intimidating.

Someone else crouched down and picked up the book, handing it to him. "Here you go," the stranger said. dusting the small brown book off.

He snatched it out of her hand. "Give me that!" he said angrily. How dare she? Didn't she understand how important his journal was? How private?

"Sorry. You just looked like you needed help there. Do you wanna talk about it?" the stranger asked.

"Why would I tell you something that is none of your business?" he asked, sitting down again.

She shrugged, sitting with him. "I don't know. I just thought I might be able to help. Sometimes it can help."

He didn't know what possessed him, but he felt like he actually wanted to tell her. She did seem familiar, but he didn't know where from… it was like she reminded him of someone. He couldn't remember.

He sighed. "It's a woman."

"Ah. Heartache?" she asked.

"Argh… Not what I would call it. I lost her. I miss her. The journal is just my way of remembering her. I have no pictures of her left, so it's all I have."

She nodded. He knew what she was thinking. She thought that he was human. A widower, probably. He felt like it, sometimes. "I miss her. It's been years since I lost her, and suddenly I've started missing her again. I just don't understand it… Why can't I move on? Why can't I love someone else again? Or at least, stop feeling like this? I can't take it…" he ranted, pulling at his hair with frustration and confusion.

He felt a hand on his arm, and looked over at the stranger. She looked at him, not with pity, but with compassion "It's okay. You can still miss her. My mum's a widow, and even though she tries to pretend that she doesn't miss my dad, I know that she still loves him. She may love others, but not like she loved him."

He nodded. Why did that sound so familiar?

"I don't know why I'm telling you this… I haven't told anyone. Not in years," he admitted.

"Maybe it's because I'm a stranger? It's not like I can judge you or anything. I don't even know your name," she said with a smile.

"John Smith," he blurted out.

She smiled. "Really? I have a friend who goes by that sometimes… Ah, speaking of the devil. My ride is here. Listen, I know you still miss her, but that's okay. Keep mourning her if you have to, or don't. I'd tell you that she probably wouldn't want you to be sad, but you know what? That doesn't matter. If you want to miss her, then do that. If you want to take whole days where you stay in bed and cry, do that. As long as you keep going. Keep trying."

He marvelled at how one so young could know so much.

That was, until until he looked up to see another Time Lord… Or rather, another one of his regenerations. His Tenth Self was looking impatiently at the woman next to him. He paled. Oh… All of sudden it all came back to him… Every moment, every thought, every hug, and every kiss.

"What's your name?" he rasped, already knowing the answer.

She smiled, the one with her tongue between her teeth. The one he loved so much. "Rose," she said.

Hit took almost all of his self control not to pull her into his arms and kiss her, or alternatively carrying her back to his TARDIS so she wouldn't get taken away from him at Canary Wharf.

"Rose?" he croaked. "It's… It's a beautiful name."

She realised something. "It was her name, wasn't it? Your wife."

He nodded, not even bothering to correct her. They hadn't been married.

If only.

She got up, smiling at him. "See ya," she said, running over to his past self.

"See you, Rose Tyler," he whispered her. "Go on, and save the universe. And save me. I sure need it."

"What?" a familiar voice asked from behind him.

He turned around. "Clara…?"

"Yes?" she asked, giving him a puzzled look.

He looked down at the journal in his hand. "Be a pal, Clara. Run over to that woman over there and give her this. Tell her that she can't read it until the day he tells her that he loves her. Oh, because he does."

"Okay?" she asked, taking the book from him.

He only had eyes for Rose as the book was given to her by Clara. He wasn't really sure what he had expected, but he was certainly surprised when Rose looked up at him, beaming. He smiled back at her, giving her a small nod. And in that very moment, he knew that he would be okay.

"What was that about?" Clara asked, once she was back. He tried to scold his features back into the scowl he usually favoured, but he just couldn't stop the smile.

"Oh nothing, just an old friend," he said.

"Who is she, Doctor?"

He thought about this, turning around and walking towards the TARDIS with her. "Let me tell you a story, Clara."

In a different time, and a different universe, in a zeppelin flying over the coast of Norway, Rose Tyler was crying the Metacrisis Doctor's arms.

He told her over and over again that it was okay for her to be sad about losing his other self, and she kept telling him that she loved him.

In one day she got the Doctor back, and lost him, but also she didn't.

"Rose…" the Doctor said, nudging her head up. "I can't say that he won't miss you, because I know he will. I would never forget you, Rose. And well… I just need you to know that I love you. Both of me."

She stared at him, realising something. Out from her pocket, she pulled a small brown book. She never understood why she had kept it, but…

"Oh, Doctor," she whispered, caressing the book as she realised who had given It to her.

She held it to her chest. She didn't even remember his face.


End file.
